


A Raven’s Honor

by Joseph_B_Bergstrom



Category: Original Work
Genre: Fantasy, Gen, Original Universe, Shadow of the Serpent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-14 04:47:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29661972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joseph_B_Bergstrom/pseuds/Joseph_B_Bergstrom
Summary: On the coast just south of the Plains of Change, two lieutenants duel to the death.This is a short story in an original low fantasy world.
Kudos: 3





	A Raven’s Honor

**Author's Note:**

> This is short story set in a low fantasy universe that's been kicking around my mind for a while. Once _The Killing Grounds_ \--an AU _Star War_ fanfiction, that's really awesome, and you should really go check out--is published, my intentions are to write out more short stories set in this universe, as well as finish a novel I've been working on for forever.

“This is utterly insane.”

The two officers—sworn gentlemen in the service of the Prince of Hellespont—walked side-by-side on the beach. Their feet left little impression on the wet sand.

“Perhaps,” the eldest of the two, Captain Flemis Pracon, granted. The commander’s plume of his hat waggled in the breeze.

“ ‘Perhaps’? ” Flemis’ companion demanded incredulously. “For the Light’s sake, Captain—this is going to get both of us beached.” First Lieutenant Gline Masook frowned as he matched his captain’s pace. “Dueling _is_ against regulations.”

“Indeed?” Flemis asked wryly, smiling slightly. “You actually _read_ the regulations, my friend?”

“They’re good for more than wiping your rear with—at least, that’s what I’ve been told.”

Flemis chuckled, before his expression sobered. Ahead of them, a collection of uniformed men were standing by a pair of beached longboats. There were no signs of civilization anywhere; not even a fisherman’s shanty.

The men were all younger than the pair walking toward them, and Flemis saw some uneasy expressions flitting across their faces as they recognized their captain and executive officer striding toward them.

A petty officer who seemed to be overseeing the affair—despite being technically junior to the two duelists—spoke up first. “Pleasant to see you here, Captain,” he said to Flemis. “This . . . uh, isn’t quite what it looks like.”

“Oh?” Flemis asked, while Gline hid a frown. “It looks surprisingly like a duel—a coincidence, I’m sure.”

The two duelists were easy enough to pick out. Both were lieutenants wearing dangerous expressions, and were the only ones present above the rank of petty officer. Flemis hid a grimace as he recognized the young men who were so determined to try to kill each other; Gavin Kathur and Duncan Lonhrafn.

Gavin looked like a perpetually angry peacock; blown-up and strutting. His uniform had been made by a fine tailor, and, though it adhered to the pattern of the Hellespont Navy, it was as opulent as could have been expected from the son of a  _t_ _rados_ lord.

Duncan looked like a beggar compared to his richly-adorned adversary. His uniform was the cheapest weave of materials, cut and sewn in a poor, slipshod manner. The obvious cheapness of Duncan’s uniform didn’t surprise Flemis, as he had known enough Wild Ravens to know that most had very little in the way of funds.

But there was something about the way Duncan carried himself that made Gavin seem like a child by comparison. If Gavin had looked like a peacock, the Raven looked like a tall, thin wolf calmly studying his opponent.

For a moment, Flemis wondered how Gavin had come to the conclusion that dueling Duncan wouldn’t be a rather dangerous endeavor.

“Of course, sir,” the petty officer agreed, nodding. Glancing back at the set of pistols resting in the inside of an opened box, he added, “We’re just doing a spot of hunting.”

Snorting silently, Flemis said, “For what, if I might ask?”

“Oh, well, we haven’t decided yet, sir.”

Nodding sagely, Flemis turned to Duncan. “Do you have a second yet, or were you going to conscript one of your accomplices?”

“No, sir—I don’t have one yet.”

The direct answer, without any of the polite go-around words that the petty officer had used, didn’t really surprise Flemis. He wondered if the Raven shot as straight as he talked.

It was starting to warm up—as much as it could near Hellespont—and Flemis unbuttoned his uniform coat and laid it on the side of one of the longboats, leaving him clad in a light linen shirt. “Well, let’s do this properly then. I’ll second you, Mr. Lonhrafn.” He glanced at Gavin. “Need a second, Mr. Kathur?”

“Uh . . . yes, sir. I couldn’t find a . . . hunting companion.”

Grimacing with the displeasure of having to second for the peacock, Gline said, “I’ll be your second, Mr. Kathur.”

Flemis picked up one of the pistols from the inside of the engraved wooden box. It was a heavy piece, with four shots in the cylinder and engravings along the barrel and on the cylinder. The grip was smooth, polished rosewood, which had obviously seen very little use from the glossy condition of the wood. Sixteen rounds sat in a compartment of the box.

A piece of driftwood—the butt of a tree worn smooth by time and the ocean—sat half-buried in the sand twenty paces away, and Flemis leveled the pistol at it without any flourish, easing the hammer back with the same motion. The roll and soft crash of waves on the surf was punctuated by the crack of an explosion that sent birds flying from the tall grass growing in the dunes. Pausing only to bring the pistol back in line with his target after the recoil had knocked it up, he pulled the hammer back and squeezed the trigger three more times.

_Crack, crack, crack._

The dueling pistol empty, Flemis walked to the driftwood, to see if the pistol had shot true. Three of his shots—the last three he’d fired—were cloistered around the knot he’d aimed for. The first shot had gone high.

Walking back to the box, he began reloading.

Gline picked up the second pistol and gave it a quick examination, rotating the chamber, and checking the weight of it, before he too fired all four rounds into the driftwood. While he was checking how well the pistol had shot, Flemis closed the loading breach of his pistol and walked to Duncan.

“It’s heavier than a service revolver,” he said quietly, setting the weapon in the boy’s hands. “How strong are your wrists?”

“Stronger than some, sir.”

“Well, be careful; it kicks hard.” He put one hand on the lieutenant’s shoulder, though the Raven was slightly taller than him. “Aim for the center and let your instincts do the rest.”

Duncan nodded, his expression serious. “Thank you, sir.”

Nodding in return, Flemis turned and found that his executive officer was just finishing giving his charge a similar talk. “Are you prepared gentlemen?” he asked.

“I am, sir,” Gavin said, the pistol gripped tightly in his right hand.

Flemis looked at the petty officer who’d first spoken to him. “You will give the command to fire.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Let’s clear a lane, gentlemen,” Flemis commanded. Quickly, the bystanders backed away from the duelists, being sure to stay far from the fields of fire.

“Come together,” Flemis ordered the two duelists. Making a motion with his hands for them to begin walking toward one another.

Once they were face-to-face, Flemis expected an insult from Gavin and was not disappointed.

“You hold it like a dead rat,” the peacock said to Duncan, smirking.

The Raven held the pistol by his side, the hammer down and his finger resting on the outside of the finger guard. He didn’t react at all to Gavin’s words, and instead looked at his opponent with his colorless, gray eyes.

“Turn around, and take five paces, gentlemen,” Flemis ordered, before counting to five slowly, making sure the midshipmen stepped in time with his voice. “Stop and turn around.” He rubbed his nose as they did so. “When Mr. . . .” Flemis trailed off, glancing again at the petty officer.

“Jadson, sir,” the petty officer said helpfully.

“When Mr. Jadson gives the word, you will both raise your pistols. When he gives the command to fire you will both fire a _single_ shot. If you both miss, Mr. Jadson will give another command to fire. Clear?”

“Clear.”

“Yes, sir.”

Clearing his throat, Chief Jadson said, “Raise your weapons.”

Both pistols were raised, the ominous openings of their barrels staring at one another unblinkingly.

A moment passed, as Jadson glanced between the two of them. “Fire.”

The tail end of the one-word command was lost in the thunderous explosion of two pistols roaring almost as one. Flemis’ breath caught for a moment, from the suddenness of it, before he slowly let it out.

For a moment, Gavin stood, staring at Duncan, before he slowly stumbled to his knees. Blood was soaking through his shirt and jacket, from a hole neatly placed in his chest. Duncan was watching him with a sad expression, though his eyes stayed as emotionless as the dull sheen of a blade.

“Honor has been satisfied,” Flemis heard himself say.

Gavin, laying on the ground, managed to speak quietly before he died, all of his cockiness taken away by the shock of his coming death. “The Raven doesn’t have any honor.”

Duncan raised an eyebrow calmly at the words, handing the service revolver to Flemis. Nothing had changed in his expression, but the Roser captain had to say, “Hard thing to kill a man.”

“Yes,” the Raven agreed without any visible regret. “But, sometimes, not hard enough.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, and please comment with any thoughts you might have!
> 
> Blessings!


End file.
